


Puns Involving the Word 'Watcher'

by Delilah_Joy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Canon, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delilah_Joy/pseuds/Delilah_Joy





	Puns Involving the Word 'Watcher'

His first reaction is a sort of amused annoyance, like Rupert is wasting something that could have been Xander’s.  Their sex life is good--great, honestly--but Giles turns fifty this year, and it’s not like they’re living in some perpetual spring-break Watchers-Gone-Wild XXXtravaganza.  Xander can jerk off in the shower when he gets home from work and still be ready to ravish Giles before the dinner dishes have been cleared--sooner, if Giles has his sleeves rolled up, so his forearms are showing.  Or if Xander has a glass of wine.  Or if, like one unexpected but memorable occasion, Giles should happen to make a reference to cock-fighting.  


  
Anyway, the point is: Xander?  Not so hard to get revved up.  But Giles...well, Xander sometimes worries that Giles is already living on borrowed erections. 

So when Xander realizes five minutes into his drive to work that he’s forgotten his phone,  when he turns around and slips quietly back into the house, thinking Rupert might still be asleep, the idea that he might catch his boyfriend having a morning wank never even enters his mind.  He’d be less surprised to find a werewolf reading a newspaper at the kitchen table, and wow, does he not lead a normal life.

But here he is, standing in the hallway, just outside the bedroom, watching the man he loves slapping the salami.  Whacking the weasel.  Making the bald man cry.  

And...he’s liking the show.  He and Buffy and Willow used to have a running contest to come up with titles for Hellmouth-related porn--_Debbie Dusts Dallas_, _Blondes Prefer the Gentlemen_, _Demon Semen 3: The Oozing_\--and he can’t believe no one ever thought of _Watching the Watcher_, because wow.  It’s pretty hot.  

Giles is stretched out on top of the sheets, naked; his eyes are closed, and his lips are slightly open.  He’s still in the lazy, teasing part of it: one hand tracing slow circles on the head of his cock, the other sliding upward to flick a nipple.  And Xander is becoming aroused in a way that’s totally different from his usual caveman _Rupert pretty, cock hard_ way of doing things.  It’s slow and hot, snaking through him like smoke.  Shivery.  He feels it in his gut and in the nerve endings at the tips of his fingers.  

It’s not that he’s never seen Giles make himself come.  It was one of the early things they did.  _I love watching you.  Show me what you like._  God, it was all so new at that point: just seeing Giles naked and hard, taking mental notes on how to stroke an uncut cock, pushing him over the edge by whispering “Rupert” in his ear at just the right moment...it still makes Xander breathless to think about it.

But this--the way Giles touches himself when he’s all by himself, when he knows no one can see him, all the pleasure just for him--is something he hasn’t seen, practically _can’t_ have seen, by definition.  And Xander’s cock is hard as steel and leaking inside his shorts.

He thinks about making his presence known, going in, saying, “Need a hand?  Or a mouth?”  But that would turn it into something different.  Even a minimalist, non-interventionist approach--“Don’t stop on account of me, I’ll just watch and maybe lick an earlobe or something”--would change everything.  And Xander kind of wants to see this through the way it’s going.

He wonders if it’s _okay_ to be watching like this, which--hello?  He can count the hours since he last had his tongue in the man’s asshole.  But he feels like he’s intruding.  If he tells him later, if he makes good use of it, Rupert won’t see it as a betrayal, will he?  _God, I was hard, like, immediately.  And I didn’t want to interrupt, you looked so...so gorgeous and uninhibited._    


  
It’s hot, God it’s hot, there’s no doubt about that.  But it’s also almost...well, “touching” isn’t the right word, unless we’re going for puns, and Xander’s never been one to pass up a good pun, especially when there’s double-entendre involved.  But he means something more serious than that: seeing Rupert like this...it’s so intimate, so _private_.  He hasn’t really thought about it before, but the way a guy masturbates is kind of like his signature; it’s uniquely his, and it’s a constant throughout his life.  No matter what else changes, you never stop knowing how to make yourself feel good.

This, what Xander is watching right now...this is Giles at age thirteen, thinking about girls or boys, waiting for bedtime when he can finally be alone.  (And is it, like, immoral or illegal or somehow wrong for that image to make his dick twitch, when Xander didn’t even meet the man until he was almost forty?)   
   
This is Giles at boarding school, surrounded by beautiful boys in...what, rugby uniforms or something; how has Xander lived in England all this time and not watched any schoolboy porn?  They’ve talked about history, Xander knows there was a single kiss once between Rupert and a boy named Colin, and that Rupert couldn’t think straight for days, imagining the things that might have happened next.  Giles, as horny and hormone-crazed as Xander was at Sunnydale High, walking the halls with a stack of books in front of his hard-on.  How do you even find the privacy to jack off in boarding school?  And why has he never thought to ask?

Rupert sits up halfway, reaching for a bottle on the nightstand, and Xander steps out of sight just in time.  It makes the whole thing hotter somehow to know that Rupert took the lube out before he got started.  Like he planned for this, knowing he had the house to himself.  Keeping a secret.  Doing something that’s just for him.

Xander presses his palm to his crotch, can’t resist a quick squeeze.  But he’s not going to whip it out and start following Rupert’s example.  He has an idea; he’s thinking about what’s going to make the best story, tonight in the dark, a mouth pressed against an ear.  He could jerk off now, that would be something:  _God, I had to, I couldn’t wait, watching you...look, it’s making me hard just thinking about it now._  But maybe there’s a way to make it better.  This is a gift he can give back.  Save this feeling, let it build.  Let it be a secret that lasts the whole damn day, until he has to ease the pressure before someone notices.  
   
Rupert’s stroking faster now, and Xander imagines Ripper, young and angry and flying on dark magic, ancient power coursing through him and leaving him hard.  Xander’s imagination fails him a little bit here, because anything’s possible for that stage of Rupert’s life.  It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that Ripper and Ethan used to beat off on public buses to shock old ladies, and it wouldn’t surprise him to learn they were all so perpetually blissed out and orgy-sated that he never got around to touching his own dick.

He thinks about Rupert in the bad time after Eyghon, after it all went to hell.  Back at the Council, wanting company but quite sure he doesn’t deserve it.  Quick, not lingering, meeting physical needs and moving on.  No joy allowed.

But now, here?  All about the joy.  Rupert’s breathing faster, almost panting, and Xander can hear the slick slapping noise as his strokes get quicker, more urgent.  Hot.  So fucking hot.  

This is Giles in Sunnydale, living a life practically devoid of adult companionship, surrounded by horny teenagers who think his dick is made of tweed.  And you know what?  Fuck, yeah, this is Xander’s head, if he wants Sunnydale Giles to jerk off fantasizing about the young, dark-eyed boy he can’t get out of his mind, then Sunnydale Giles is damn well going to do it.  Let’s linger there for a minute, flesh it out a little: Giles, standing behind Xander, looking over his shoulder at a book, shifting position to hide the erection he knows he shouldn’t have.  Giving in, finally, retreating to the faculty bathroom, the one near the auditorium with a door that locks.  Fast and hard, not even taking the time to pull his pants down.  Raising his shirt to clear a space for the come to land.  

God.  Xander’s breathing catches, and he has to remind himself that he’s not supposed to make any noise.  Plan.  He has a plan.  Wait now, so he can tell Rupert how he couldn’t stop thinking about it, how he was turned on for hours afterward.  How he finally gave in and locked himself in a coffee shop bathroom.  Ducked into an alleyway.  Pulled his car to the side of a quiet road.  Taking his cock out, coming in five strokes.  Thinking about _this_, what he’s looking at right now.

Rupert bites his lip and cups his balls, letting out a soft moan.  His legs stiffen, and Xander can tell he’s getting close.  This is three-years-ago Giles, retreating to his bedroom while Xander lay awake on the couch, both of them aroused beyond belief, both of them convinced they were the only one feeling it.  This is Giles making phone calls between London and Africa, too long, too expensive, and hanging up hard and unfulfilled.  Xander remembers this part, too.  The ache of not knowing.  The frantic grappling, fast and desperate and sharp; the fantasy so vivid; the wistful letdown as the orgasm fades.

And, apparently, this is also Giles in love with Xander.  Giles happy in a relationship.  Giles with a boyfriend and a good sex life, who still likes to steal a few moments for himself.  Giles whose mind drifted to something that electrified his cock at a moment when the boyfriend wasn’t around to play.

Faster and harder and, oh God, this is Giles gasping and coming.  This is Giles shooting pearly stripes across his stomach.  Xander slips away from the doorway while Giles is still sprawled boneless on the mattress.  Before he has time to come back down to Earth, before he opens his eyes and puts on his glasses and becomes a decent member of society again.  Quick and quiet, and Xander’s out the door, his cock aching, his boxers damp.  Laughing at how happy he feels for not getting caught.  He still doesn’t have his phone, and he’s running late, but now he’s Xan-man on a mission.  An _emission_ mission.  A masturbation obligation.  A perversion diversion.  By the time he comes home tonight, he’ll have a secret of his own.

 


End file.
